


Make It Right

by irisbleufic, procrastinatingbookworm



Series: Stay Put [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Banter, Caretaking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Exhaustion, First Time, Fluff and Humor, How Do I Tag, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Intimacy Somewhere Between Non-Explicit/Implied and Mildly Explicit, M/M, Naked Cuddling, New Relationship, Post-Apocalypse, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 12:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16598210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinatingbookworm/pseuds/procrastinatingbookworm
Summary: The First Part of an Epilogue to Certain Events occurring in theGroundhog DayAU no one asked for, in strict accordancewith both Authorial Compulsion andAnon Curiosity





	Make It Right

Crowley was flagging before they even reached the Jeep, agitated and wringing his hands. He drifted repeatedly against Aziraphale’s shoulder, stumbling against him and stepping away.

Aziraphale wanted, with an intensity that surprised him, to pick Crowley up and carry him the rest of the way—carry him _home_ , even. He resisted the temptation, if only due to the sudden exhaustion that had overtaken him. He could barely keep his wings from dragging on the pavement; the nigh-unused muscles burned.

“It’s come out all right,” Aziraphale said as soothingly as he could manage, wrapping an arm around Crowley, holding him tightly against his side before he could move away again. “Chin up, my dear. You’ll have to drive us home, but then you can rest.”

“Home,” Crowley murmured. His sunglasses had been abandoned somewhere on the tarmac, and his yellow eyes were wide and glazed over. “Remind me, is the bookshop still standing in this one? I’ve lost track.”

Aziraphale’s heart clenched for more reasons than one. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Crowley shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t pinned against Aziraphale’s rib cage. The movement was uncomfortably similar to something Adam had done a few times, nonchalant and empty.

“Candles,” he said, and that single, foreboding-laden word was all the reminder in the world.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and filed that particular information away for later.

“To Mayfair, then,” he said with forced cheer. “I’m sure that won’t be too much of an issue. It won’t even take an hour at your usual speed.”

“Mmmh,” Crowley acknowledged, which was really the best Aziraphale could have expected.

The drive was quiet. It took longer than Aziraphale had guessed, but it was uneventful. It might even have been awkward if either one of them had any inclination to speak. As it was, Aziraphale appreciated the silence. He’d forgotten how loud it was in other people’s heads.

Crowley parked the Jeep in the Bentley’s usual space, crookedly enough that Aziraphale subtly encouraged the vehicle to straighten itself out. Crowley didn’t seem to notice. He was standing at the door of his building, his palms and forehead resting against the wood.

Aziraphale gestured the lock open and guided Crowley inside. The staircase leading up to Crowley’s flat was treacherous on a normal day, much less one on which they’d exhausted themselves saving the world.

“Upstairs,” Crowley said, indicating that Aziraphale should steer them that way next. “Something I’ve got to check,” he muttered darkly, clinging to Aziraphale’s arm as they climbed the much smaller set of stairs. “There, in the office. End of the hall.”

Aziraphale frowned and paused, turning to face Crowley. “Did something dreadful happen?”

“Lots of dreadful things happened,” Crowley said tonelessly. “But…” He gestured toward the darkened office; its door stood partially open. “Dropped some Holy Water on Ligur’s head.”

“ _Holy Water_?” echoed Aziraphale, in horror. “How did you even manage to handle…”

“That safe behind the Mona Lisa sketch. Kept it there a long time, angel. Insurance policy.”

“I daresay,” Aziraphale murmured, patting Crowley on the shoulder. “I’ll have a look, shall I?”

Crowley nodded and sagged against the wall, arms folded across his chest. “Be my guest.”

Aziraphale strode into the office and hit the light switch. There was what looked like a thick scattering of ash on the plush cream carpet, nothing a thorough hoovering wouldn’t fix.

He turned the light out and went back to Crowley, who had shifted his stance considerably nearer the bedroom door. “Ashes and nothing more. I’ll take care of it in the morning.”

Crowley nodded gratefully, and his features softened in confusion. “You? In the morning?”

Aziraphale realized that Crowley wasn’t so much pitching forward as leaning, so Aziraphale met him halfway, kissing him softly on the mouth. He could taste wine on Crowley’s tongue.

“Did you honestly think I would leave you alone tonight? Where else should I have gone?”

Shrugging, Crowley nuzzled Aziraphale’s jaw, his breath warm beneath Aziraphale’s collar.

“Damned if I know,” Crowley whispered, the rasp of his utterance wavering with laughter.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek, trying to slow the abrupt spike in his pulse. He ought not to be thinking like this, not when Crowley was so worn-out.

“Can hear you thinking,” Crowley said conversationally, nosing his way to the skin his breath had warmed moments before, “and if I wasn’t…” He shivered against Aziraphale. “Morning.”

“I’ll stay with you,” Aziraphale said softly, brushing at Crowley’s hair, “if that’s what you wish.”

“We’re past where it usually…” Crowley closed his eyes, an impossibly light brush of his eyelashes against Aziraphale’s neck.

“There’s no call for that,” Aziraphale replied. “No _usually_ unless we decide there is.”

Crowley snorted as if something about that was funny. “I think we’ve already decided.”

“Yes, and deferred it until you’re not out of your mind with exhaustion,” Aziraphale said firmly.

Yawning, Crowley tugged at Aziraphale’s lapels. “You’re going to have to try sleep, you know.”

“Perhaps I will.” Aziraphale lifted one hand to Crowley’s cheek and stroked gently. With the other, he turned the bedroom door-knob and ushered them inside.

Aziraphale let go of Crowley to shed his coat and trousers, willing them both neatly folded before they hit the ground. His slipover jumper next, deciding he could do worse than treat underthings and his rumpled button-down shirt as pajamas.

Crowley was seated on the edge of the bed, which he’d turned down, blinking at him. His eyes shone faintly, illuminated by light filtering in from the hall. In the near-darkness, he seemed haggard, looked older than he had ever bothered to pretend.

“Do you need any help with…” Aziraphale gestured uselessly at Crowley’s clothes, which were still on him. He hadn’t properly thought ahead. How did Crowley dress for sleep?

Crowley loosened his tie and slid it free of his collar, tossing it aimlessly on the floor. “Maybe.”

Aziraphale swallowed and nodded, and then sat down beside him. “Where are your, ah…”

“Pajamas are in the bureau,” Crowley yawned, “but I think you can just…” He waved his hand.

Aziraphale did just that, hoping he’d transmuted a suitably comfortable pair onto Crowley.

“Second-favorite, not bad,” Crowley said, twisting so he could crawl to the far side of the bed. His voice was blurry with exhaustion, and he collapsed heavily against one of the pillows.

Unsure of how to reply, Aziraphale crawled after him, pulling the blanket from under Crowley’s legs and tucking it over them. He touched Crowley’s shoulder, silently questioning.

Crowley took hold of Aziraphale’s hand, tugging Aziraphale’s arm around him in answer. After a moment of quiet shifting, he settled, tucked against Aziraphale’s chest.

“However long it takes,” Aziraphale murmured, “however long you sleep, I’ll be right here.”

“You’ll be bored to tears,” Crowley mumbled, but he entwined their fingers against his chest.

Aziraphale was surprised to find that keeping his eyes open was, at this point, nearly impossible.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, unsure if Crowley was awake enough to hear. “I wish I had been there for you, I wish I had known...”

Crowley didn’t answer aloud, but the reassuring warmth he radiated lulled Aziraphale to sleep.

 

 

*

 

 

The first time Crowley woke up, he was overheated, except for the tip of his nose. The imaginary vines in his throat had grown past his lips and bloomed. Petals obscured his vision.

Closing his eyes again, Crowley reached back with his toes, brushing against Aziraphale’s shins.

Aziraphale’s hand, which had been resting possessively against his chest, flexed in a kind of caress.

“Might as well admit you’re awake,” Crowley yawned, his pulse spiking as he stretched enough for an excuse to shift back so that their bodies touched. “ _Mmm_. S’warm. Angel?”

“Too early,” Aziraphale slurred, sliding his palm down and over Crowley’s belly so that he could catch Crowley around the waist. He pulled Crowley impossibly close.

If Crowley had been fully alert, he might’ve responded differently to the touch. As it was, bone-deep exhaustion weighed him down. He contently clutched at Aziraphale’s forearm.

“Knew you’d like this,” he said into the pillow, satisfied when Aziraphale squeezed him tighter.

The second time Crowley woke up, it was evening. _What_ evening was anyone’s guess.

Gradually, it dawned on him that Aziraphale’s lips were pressed to the back of his neck, and that Aziraphale’s hold on him had a tense, fretful quality. The angel was definitely awake.

“I’m not going to disappear,” Crowley said drowsily, squirming in Aziraphale’s embrace until he’d managed to situate them face to face with their legs tangled. “Hi.”

Eyes half-lidded with relief, not so tense now, Aziraphale brushed at the small of Crowley’s back. His hand had slid beneath the hem of Crowley’s pajama top when they shifted.

“Hello yourself,” he sighed with an air of mild, endearingly attractive chagrin. “What time…”

Crowley shrugged, feeling more awake than he had moments ago. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

Aziraphale smiled at that, and it wasn’t the reluctant smile Crowley had been expecting, either.

“Just as long as we’re on the same page, you understand. I’d prefer it if…” He bit his lip, unsure of himself. “If we stayed right here?”

Crowley wanted to say something cleverly romantic in response, but the reality of his circumstances dictated something helplessly soppy. He kissed Aziraphale instead, hoping his wordless invitation would be clear.

Aziraphale licked into Crowley’s mouth with a sound that Crowley’s body could decipher more efficiently than his brain, which...yes, message very much received. Crowley pressed as close to him as their sleepwear permitted.

“Are we doing this?” he mumbled, swiping his tongue questioningly at Aziraphale’s lower lip.

Aziraphale froze, so deer-in-the-headlights that Crowley felt sorry. “Er, that’s—if you like?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, shivering so close that their foreheads touched, Crowley swallowed.

“When I said you were worth liking,” he whispered, “what I really meant was...well, _more_.”

Aziraphale kissed him again, which was nice, because it required very little second-guessing.

“I ought to have told you the feeling is mutual,” the angel whispered back. “Very much so.”

“You just told me now,” said Crowley, with impatient, disbelieving joy. “I think that’ll do.”

Kissing was easy enough to settle into, with a little squirming to get comfortable. Aziraphale’s hands on him were reassuring, just as they had been in the first moment of calm after everything had been averted. Crowley melted against him with less desperation this time, although there was no mistaking the difference. There was desperation, and then there was desire.

“I would like it very much,” Aziraphale whispered, nudging against Crowley until he got the message and rolled onto his back, “if you’d let me make things up to you.”

“That’s a long time, angel,” cautioned Crowley, with a nervous grin, “and a lot of things.”

Aziraphale nodded and kissed Crowley’s neck, which meant that thinking had to go out the window for a while longer. Only the tug of Aziraphale’s fingers at his pajama-top buttons snapped him back into focus, but all he could do to assent was nod.

Inasmuch as Crowley had never engaged in this sort of activity, he’d witnessed it in humans plenty of times. He’d always pitied them the need to stop for the likes of snaps and zippers; he couldn’t imagine existence without the ability to vanish his clothing at will.

Somehow, none of that mattered now that Aziraphale was exposing the skin of Crowley’s chest one maddening button at a time. Vanishing things would’ve defeated the purpose.

“Not fair,” Crowley panted, tipping his head back into the pillows as Aziraphale nudged his thighs apart. “You’re still in that—that bloody _wrinkled_ thing, and I’m—”

Aziraphale knelt patiently between Crowley’s knees on the mattress, fingering his skewed collar.

“Do you mean this?” he asked innocently, letting his hand slip temptingly down to his buttons.

Crowley thumped the skewed sheets with both fists, lifting his head to glare. “Yes, angel. That.”

Aziraphale nodded and glanced down, undoing his shirt buttons as nonchalantly as you please.

Levering himself up on his elbows, Crowley watched with scarcely-contained longing. He’d never felt anything quite like Aziraphale stroking his chest, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t about to give as good as he’d got. Where had Aziraphale learned how to tease?

Aziraphale tossed his shirt over the side of the bed, and then helped Crowley out of his. It necessitated a pleasant degree of closeness, which mostly amounted to Crowley wrapping his arms around Aziraphale as soon as they were both bare from the waist up.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed against Crowley’s ear, skimming his fingers along Crowley’s waistband. Not that there had been much of a barrier between them to begin with, and not that either one of them was terribly ashamed. “I’d like to...that is, ah, if...”

Nodding again, Crowley tightened his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair. He bit lightly at Aziraphale’s shoulder, tasting salt and skin. He trembled beneath Aziraphale’s weight, one leg hooked over Aziraphale’s hip. Not subtle at all, but this wasn’t _about_ subtle.

“If you don’t get on with, um,” Crowley huffed, “I’m going to do the rest of the work for you.”

Oh, to hell with it. When you could do what they could do, some cheating never went amiss.

Skin against skin, and without that much warning, was apparently just the excuse Aziraphale needed to kiss every last bit of breath from Crowley. The sounds it wrung from him made Crowley flush hot, the sensation indescribable. Humans didn’t get to feel _this_.

“My first thought,” Aziraphale managed between kisses, when it was obvious neither one of them felt inclined to stop, “was that I wanted to touch you, but—”

With an undignified whimper, Crowley slid his tongue against Aziraphale’s, cutting him off.

“You’re already touching me, what’s the point of—of anything else,” he panted, digging his heel into the back of Aziraphale’s thigh. He didn’t understand how his extremities hadn’t gone to pins and needles; maybe it had to do with how they were moving. “Please. _Please_.”

Even if Crowley couldn’t articulate what he was begging for, not without expending more effort, Aziraphale got the message. He kissed the corner of Crowley’s mouth, heart-stoppingly tender.

“Should I try something else, I wonder?” Aziraphale whispered, trailing his lips up Crowley’s jawline. He shifted his hips just _so_ , changing the angle of contact between them.

“Later,” Crowley gasped, twitching into action. He dug his other heel into Aziraphale’s calf, satisfied when tightening his four-limbed stranglehold made Aziraphale groan.

You could learn a lot from growing things, especially vines and creepers. They never let go.

 

 

*

 

 

In Aziraphale’s honest, fervent opinion, there was nothing as sublime as having Crowley in his arms. Having him asleep there, safe for days on end, would have been enough.

He’d had some idea it might eventually come to this, but none of his abstract imaginings had been in any way sufficient. Crowley’s bravery in the face of circumstances far more daunting ought to have been a hint. Here, he was incandescent, _fearless_.

Aziraphale’s offer of caretaking was only as good as the courage that he could summon, but convincing Crowley he deserved to relax in any situation was nearly impossible. Bless him.

Moot point, regardless. They’d pushed things quite far along with avid mutual encouragement.

“If you’re zoning out on me, angel,” said Crowley, sounding deliciously strained, “think twice.”

Aziraphale worked one shaky, sweat-slick hand down the back of Crowley’s thigh. “The nerve.”

Crowley laughed breathlessly, eyes falling shut at the touch. “It involves more than just one.”

That merited a light, well-placed pinch, and this time, Crowley yelped. “I’m quite aware.”

Crowley nodded, breathless and pink-cheeked. He loosened his hold on Aziraphale’s shoulders, letting his arms fall gracelessly above his head. Palms up, fingers open. _Trusting_.

“Doesn’t matter what you do,” he said, tongue darting out to slide along his lip. “I want it all.”

 _How to bear this?_ Aziraphale thought, lowering his head to kiss the corner of Crowley’s mouth, getting an utterly distracting flick of Crowley’s tongue for his trouble. _How to even begin?_

Crowley, to his credit, caught on, lifting one languid hand to Aziraphale’s cheek. “Too much?”

 _Too much, that’s exactly what it is_ , Aziraphale thought. _But damned if I’ll tell you that; I’ve come far too close to hurting you already to chance it._

“I’ll say nothing about your nature,” he murmured instead, his voice almost steady. “Only that there’s some grain of truth to the piece about temptation.”

Crowley smiled, heartbreakingly sincere. “Only for you,” he replied. “You know that, right?”

Aziraphale kissed him again, catching Crowley’s lower lip between his teeth. It was all genuine, all heartfelt and adoring. “How does this feel?”

“You’re asking me?” Crowley gasped, nipping Aziraphale’s in return. “Like what we deserve.”

“Yes, I understand that,” Aziraphale sighed, shifting a little, which drew another gasp. “In the moment, however, I’m concerned with—Crowley, is this _good_?”

Crowley nodded tensely, the hand he’d kept at Aziraphale’s cheek finding its way into his hair.

“You might have been onto something with the, ah,” he swallowed, “the, well, touching idea?”

What could they do, at this point, _other_ than touch? They seemed to be moving forward, but with the same languid contentment that they had kissed on the tarmac. The pleasure was not in what they were building to, but in what they were _doing_.

How human they could be, here in the dark, skin against skin. Lips, a hint of teeth, strain down the backs of their thighs. Crowley’s sharp spine under Aziraphale’s fingertips, Crowley’s hands on the softness of Aziraphale’s hips. Warm breath, warmer tongues, salt-tinged skin. Voices, too, with Aziraphale’s murmuring as counterpoint to Crowley’s near-desperate cries.

Feathers, eventually: wings folded over their heads as they dozed, wrapped in each other, warm.

“S’this what I get for making you sleep?” Crowley mumbled, smiling against Aziraphale’s neck.

“This _is_ what you get, dear boy,” Aziraphale answered fondly, “and not only for that.”


End file.
